“I know it’s wrong. I just… I can’t help it. It just feels… good, somehow. To…” She looked down at her hands. “slit their throats and… watch the blood pour out.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I don’t want to be like this. Like Jack. Some kind of monster. A serial killer.”

As much as I hated what she was saying–as much as it made me want to hate her–I couldn’t. When I looked at her, I didn’t see a psychopathic killer: I saw the same Lilly I’d come to know, once more beating herself up for not being perfect. Perhaps I was blinded by love, but… I couldn’t hate her.

I sighed and sat back down. “You’re right. You are like Jack in a way. But you regret it, and that makes you different.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No. It doesn’t. But… it has to count for something. Right?” I took a deep breath. “Jesus said every sin could be forgiven, right? That no matter how much shit you’ve done, you’re never past redemption. I’d like to believe that’s true. So… I’m going to give you a chance. But no more killing. If you even think about hurting anyone, you let me know right away.”

She nodded. “I’ll stop. I–I could never do it again. Not now that I know you’re a–”

“You’d better. Because you won’t get a third chance. Not from me.”

“You’re–you’re not mad?”

“That you derive a sick sense of pleasure from hunting down and murdering my species in cold blood? Not okay with that. But if I get mad, the building burns down. So… I’m not mad, just really, really, really fucking dissappointed. Go to your room, young lady, and think about what you’ve done.”

She cracked a weak smile.

That’s better. Comedy, the best defense mechanism against the horrors of life.